


Hoping We're Good For Each Other

by lrceleste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Modern AU, Piles and Piles of Fluff, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrceleste/pseuds/lrceleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of fics and drabbles prompted by Tumblr. ((My tumblr is vashothbutt)) Ratings and tags will be updated as work is added</p><p>Most recent fic: Retirement - Bull and Dorian being old and married and very much still in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Click the links below to navigate easily and find the fic you want, or browse through as you normally would :)

1\. This Page

2.[ **Balm**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14048182) \- the first moment Dorian realized that he was very much in love with Bull

3.[ **A Man After Midnight**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14048349) \- "it’s 2 am and i just walked in on you dancing to some abba song in a deserted laundromat. also, you’re only wearing underwear and i’m both weirded out and a bit turned on."

4.[ **Voulez-Vous**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14090323) \- Part 2 of A Man After Midnight

5.[ **When All Is Said And Done**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14102321) \- 3rd and final part of A Man After Midnight

6.[ **The Best Medicine**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14151481) \- Modern AU Bull finds that Dorian, all fancy and prim, has a very unflattering laugh and he loves it.

7.[ **Epilogue: A Man After Midnight**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14176516)

8.[ **Untitled**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14274877) \- Dorian is introduced to gay literature

9.[ **Retirement**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6129880/chapters/14705983) \- Bull and Dorian are old and married and very much still in love


	2. Balm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the first moment Dorian realized that he was very much in love with Bull. - by [ashitaimai](http://ashitarimai.tumblr.com/)

Love had never truly been an option; there had been the mutual feeling of two people who had been hooking up continuously over a period of time, but not love. He’d read about it of course, longed for it, but love like he desired didn’t happen in Tevinter, not between two men, in Tevinter love was a thing used against you. Books told it like a shaft of light shining down and a sudden realisation, it didn’t go _quite_ like that.

They were in Val Royeaux, he, Lavellan, Vivienne and Cassandra, an unusual group, but it was simply negotiations and shopping, a pleasant detour since their usual group wasn’t exactly available, Sera having underestimated their first battle with a dragon, and Bull having been rather too enthusiastic during the fight, and during… other activities afterwards. Dorian had rubbed heated hands into Bull’s scarred leg, but still the morning after walking, had not been the easiest of tasks. A shame really, Bull always loved Val Royeaux, tiny pastry, a chance to sample wares and food, and perhaps make the best use of a bed in a boutique hotel for just a night.

They’d been walking through Val Royeaux for some time, he and Cassandra inspecting the stalls as Vivienne introduced Vhen to yet another influential Marquis (how she could tell them all apart with every one of them hidden behind a mask he didn’t have the faintest) it was then that Cassandra lifted a small tin, completely nondescript. As soon as she lifted the lid he was hit with the familiar smell, the only scent he could truly put a name to was the embrium, but as a whole it was undeniably familiar.

Cassandra looked down at the translucent cream that filled the tin, her nose crinkling as she asked the stall keeper what the substance actually was, when he shrugged his shoulders before entering into a winding story about how the tin had been found mysteriously in a small abandoned town in Rivain, about how the cream could be anything, but really he just wanted rid of it. Dorian smiled and handed the man a gold piece, much to the stall keepers and Cassandra’s surprise.

“Do you have anything else from the town?” The man only showed him a book of Rivaini tales and a sword that was clearly designed for a human to wield, so Dorian thanked the man and turned away.

 “What is it?” Cassandra asked, eyeing Dorian suspiciously as they walked away, Dorian smelling the balm.

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s horn balm, I would recognise the scent anywhere,” Dorian answered, a smile still tugging at his lips. Bull wouldn’t believe it; that after they’d spent three weeks trekking through the hissing wastes and only found one plant that was a required ingredient, he’d simply purchased a tin of the balm from an Orlesian that was none the wiser.

When Dorian turned from his pack to Cassandra she was looking at him with a small smile and eyes that were not often seen on the seeker. She simply sighed, “Oh, Dorian.”

“What?” He asked, his smile dipping, but Cassandra didn’t answer, simply looked at him like she was reading one of her novels about love-struck fools.

He shook his head and placed the tin carefully into his pouch. The rest of the day held nothing that was of notable worth, and the group stayed the night in one of the lower market inns on the outskirts of the city, much to Vivienne’s dismay. They drank wine for a while, and laughed, before retiring to bed. It was then, whilst Dorian led in bed, a small dab of horn balm worked into his hands so that when he tucked them under his head and pillow he could smell the familiar scent, that he was hit with the slowly dawning realisation. Bull was a million miles away, and the world didn’t stop, Vhen continued to snore in the bed next to his, it was only Dorian that stopped; a small pot of horn balm on the bedside table. He was so used to the scent, had worked it into the Bull’s horns himself so many times, that it had become a comfort.

The truth was, it wasn’t quite a revelation, no sudden shock, just a settling warmth, and the slow realisation that in truth, he’d felt this way for quite some time, he simply hadn’t named the feeling. Half of his conversations started with ‘Bull’ nowadays, and more of it thoughts than he cared to admit somehow worked their way back to Bull. He could barely even sleep on pillows anymore, he wasn’t quite sure when his preference had changed to a hard chest and steady heartbeat over feather, but he knew that he had, and he was, much to his surprise, completely content with these realisations, and simultaneously petrified.

And that was how he realised that with a doubt, he was in love with The Iron Bull.


	3. A Man After Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "it’s 2 am and i just walked in on you dancing to some abba song in a deserted laundromat. also, you’re only wearing underwear and i’m both weirded out and a bit turned on."
> 
> This was honestly one of my favourite prompts I've ever filled, in any fandom. Also, [here's a playlist you can listen to whilst reading if you like.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETxmCCsMoD0&index=1&list=PLeV-4HcT6Z7R-F-xQ_03FIxaqldKgPnSL) It's exactly what you think it is ;)

Admittedly Dorian’s expectations of the south had not been high, yet it still managed to disappoint. Maevaris had introduced him to a friend, a dwarf named Varric that in turn introduced him to more people, for starters a landlord that could offer an apartment that wouldn’t completely rob him of measly funds in his bank account. The place was fine, if he didn’t look at the finer details, the cracks, that leaking tap, the faint smell of damp even if he couldn’t find the source.

It was a place to stay, which was more than he’d been offered on his journey south. Varric also introduced him to employers, even if the demand for over-educated Tevinters was zero to none, he managed to land a place at a big chain coffee house. One of the many downsides of the job was the fact that he had been granted the joy of the opening shift, meaning he had to start at six am even if nobody graced the café for a solid two hours there were always jobs from the day before.

It was almost two am when he woke suddenly bolt upright, eyes flicking to his uniform bundled in the corner of the room, a customer had spilt a skinny soy latte with whipped cream (because logic didn’t play a part in the coffee business it seemed) down his front two minutes before the end of his shift, before promptly demanding another. It had taken several deep breaths to stop him from righting something rather unsavoury on their drink as he watched the clock tick past the time he was supposed to leave.

He stared at the uniform for a few seconds longer, at the stain that was visible even in the dark, and then to the clock that clearly displayed he had to start work in less than four hours. With a groan he climbed from bed, stretching his back and grabbing the shirt before he padded through the house in only his boxers. Squinting as he hit the light switch, he began to search through the bags of shopping he hadn’t found time to put away, things that didn’t immediately need the fridge, and his hands found the box of detergent. With the powder in the designated drawer and his shirt in the washer he pressed the power button, waiting for the digital display to blink on. When it showed no signs of life he pressed it off and on again, finally receiving a faint green ‘60’. Not caring too much about specifics he pressed ‘start’, to which the machine gave a sad beep and the display disappeared. He waited a few moments for signs of life before pressing his forehead against the countertop that was trying its hardest to imitate wood.

With a sigh he pulled his shirt from the machine and looked at it a moment, weighing up his options. He could arrive at work in a shirt that didn’t hold the company logo and break rules after only a week of employment, or…

Grabbing his phone from the floor beside his bed he searched for 24 hour Laundromats as he pulled on clothes acceptable for the outside world. Thankfully there was one only two blocks away, so with his phone held between his teeth, he left the apartment, pulled on his jacket, and slipped on his headphones.

The place was hard to miss, the only bright light in a residential area that was deserted at that time on a Tuesday night, and he thanked whatever gods might be watching. His luck changed moderately when he stepped into the building and pulled off his headphones. He hadn’t been expecting anyone out at this time of night, and that had been his first mistake.

There was one inhabitant of the Laundromat, and that inhabitant had more than enough presence to count as at least three people. The Qunari was huge both in height and sheer mass if the sight of his muscles were any indication, and Dorian certainly had a view of every muscle on the Qunari’s body, only covered in small pink briefs that were disappearing into his ass enough that they may as well have been a thong, and as if his physical appearance was not enough of a presence, he was singing at the top of his lungs, and Dorian only realised that there was music playing when he saw the rhythmic shaking of the man’s hips and heard a low voice sing along to… Abba, surely not.

But as Dorian stood in the entrance with a soiled shirt hung over his arm, and his chin dropping so visibly he could have sworn it rested on his chest. The Qunari paused in the murdering of a classic for only a moment, enough time to turn to Dorian, revealing a wide muscled chest, and the briefs straining to contain his… manhood, before winking with the only eye he possessed and throwing himself loudly into the chorus of Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!

Dorian stood for a moment longer wondering if the entirety of this was a dream, if perhaps his abrupt awakening had been so sudden because he was truly still led in his bed, but even with this realisation the scenario continued. He stepped into the building hesitantly and opened one of the machines, his eyes constantly wandering to the Qunari who was still moving in time with the music. Maker, the man was huge; every bulging muscle on show, and Dorian should not have been as turned on as he was.

He looked down at his shirt for a moment wondering whether he could after all simply throw it in the machine, when the man’s voice interrupted him. “Somebody had a bunch of fun, I’ve heard spit gets it out.”

Dorian looked up at the Qunari for a moment, then followed the man’s gaze, to the stains on his shirt before the realisation hit him and looked back up in horror. “It’s _cream_! _Whipped_ cream, somebody spilled a drink on me.”

“Ah, most of the people you see coming here at this time of night are here to hide what they’re washing away.”

“Then why are you here?”

The Qunari smiled mischievously, but answered, “Can’t dance in your underwear during the day.”

“Can’t-” Dorian began incredulously but decided it best not to encourage him. Instead he set the machine to spin, and replaced his headphones, to avoid any further conversation, not that he was listening too much, he was more content to listen to the Qunari follow up with by far the worst rendition of Voulez-Vous he’d ever heard. He’d assumed his glances were inconspicuous until he looked up in time to watch a flex, the man’s pecks jumping individually, and a smile twitching over the Qunari’s lips as they made eye contact for a moment and Dorian felt his cheeks flush.

He was half glad when the washer beeped and he pulled his shirt from the machine, dripping wet, and left the building as quickly as possible.


	4. Voulez-Vous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of A Man After Midnight since a few people requested this
> 
> Again there is [a playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkL7Fkigfn8&index=3&list=PLeV-4HcT6Z7R-F-xQ_03FIxaqldKgPnSL) if you are interested.
> 
> WARNING for alcohol and general drunkenness

After the fiasco, the landlord agreed to send someone to repair Dorian’s washer, or replace it, with the look of it the latter option was preferable. In the meantime he’d carried a load to the Laundromat, at a reasonable time, and hadn’t been met by any Qunari.

So life continued as was expected, he’d even begun to talk to some of his co-workers, which was why he found himself in his current predicament, on the Friday late shift. He wasn’t quite sure how the blonde elf, Sera, still had a job, but she hadn’t even been there as long as him when he saw her spit into a drink, and then hand it to a businessman who grabbed it from her impatiently then hurried out of the door none the wiser. Admittedly he’d gained a soft spot for the elf.

“What did he do?” Dorian asked casually as he prepared a hot chocolate.

“Heard him calling me a ‘fucking knife ear’ to his mate on the phone. Lucky I didn’t have rat poison.”

“I don’t think poisoning customers would be in our best interests.”

“What, you really want to work here?”

“No,” Dorian answered. “But I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to go through the long winded task of finding somewhere that’ll have me.”

“I know a guy who employs literally anyone. Depends what work you’re looking for.”

“Just about anything.”

“Great.” Sera pulled her phone out as she turned away from the next customer. “I could message him. He’s like an IT contractor or some shit, used to work in some secret service.”

“What?! No. I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

“What happened to just about anything?”

“I’m not quite that desperate,” Dorian explained as he sprinkled chocolate powder through a stencil and thought that maybe he was just that desperate.

Shift finally ended at eleven and Sera burst out of the door, begging Dorian to join her on her night out that was beginning there and then, in a shirt with the company’s logo plastered across her breast.

“The new gay place just opened, I heard Varric and Hawke have a hand in it, but they have their hands in a bunch of places,” Sera snorted.

“I think I’ll pass,” Dorian laughed, did everyone this side of the Tevinter border know Varric, apparently the author drabbled in far more than literature.

“Come on! Don’t worry if you don’t want anyone to know you’re ‘that way inclined’, you can pretend I dragged you there.”

“That way inclined?”

“Batting for the other team, a shit stabber, a flaming homo-“

“Yes, right I understand. But I have other things to be on with, I have a pile of washing and the landlord still hasn’t-”

“Washing?! Ugh, calm down grandma. Come on, no work tomorrow, let loose for a night.”

“Fine.”

“That a yeah?” Dorian sighed and nodded. “Nice! Trust me you’re gonna love the guys. You have a type; I can probably hook you up.”

“Ah, no, this isn’t one of those nights; this is a ‘get very drunk and forget that I have to go home to my shitty apartment’ kind of night.” He had at the very least thought he was telling the truth when he’d said it.

They met Sera’s group in the entrance to the smoking area of the club (close enough for the music, far enough away to have a smoke, he’d been told) and he wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting, but really from the impression Sera had left on him, he should really have been expecting exactly this. Three dwarves, one of whom Sera screamed over the music was her girlfriend; Dorian never actually caught her real name. The second was holding hands with one of three humans in the group, two elves excluding Sera, he watched as one of them lit a cigarette for the other with her fingers and then turned to Dorian and shouted, “don’t go getting ideas, I’m not a mage!”

The final member of the group turned up with an elf hanging off his arm after Dorian had already had plenty of drinks, too many for the amount of time he’d been out, it didn’t help that Sera had handed him several shots too and he was beginning to feel a pleasant buzz, but not enough to call it drunk. Honestly though the male elf with ridiculously bright red hair and clothing that barely left anything to the imagination would have been enough of a sight had he not been attached to this particular man. The Qunari was completely shirtless, and extraordinarily muscular.

“This is Bull,” Sera screamed again over the music. “He’s the guy who has the job!”

When Dorian managed to rake his eyes up towards the Qunari’s face he was met by an eye patch a smirk and a surprise. “Oh.”

“Bull this is Dorian,” Sera yelled.

“Nice to see you again,” Bull shouted.

“Nice to see you wearing some sort of clothing,” Dorian replied and could immediately feel Sera’s eyes on him. Bull’s smile only widened.

“So Dorian, what brought you south?” Bull asked and Sera turned away, more interested in the groups shouting behind them.

“What makes you think I’m new around here?”

“Sera mentioned you, wanted to bring you into the group, seems like she succeeded.”

“No, no. This is just a night out, cutting loose, you know.”

“So what’s a guy like you doing ‘cutting loose’ in a place like this?”

“Sera brought me,” Dorian answered.

“Well now you’re just dodging the question.”

Dorian sighed, “My reasons for coming down south are… complicated.”

“Fair enough, so what kind of cutting loose are you looking for?” Bull asked, and he couldn’t have possibly made his voice sound more suggestive.

“What about your friend?” Dorian questioned gesturing to the red haired elf.

“He’s just a friend; I was helping him out of a sticky situation.”

“So now you’re inviting me _into_ one?”

“Hey, if that’s what you’re into,” Bull admitted with a laugh.

“Get me another drink and I might think about it.”

As soon as Bull pushed his way back into the building Sera was upon Dorian. “Have you and Bull-?!”

“No, we’ve met once before and it was nothing like what you think,” Dorian assured, dipping his head around the corner so he could see Bull stand at the bar and chat to the staff.

“But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Gonna ride the Bull, take the Bull by his-”

“Please stop, I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Sera accused with a grin.

When Bull returned he carried several drinks but made sure that the one with a little cherry stuck in the top was handed to Dorian. He took a sip, and wasn’t sure how Bull guessed what he’d been drinking the whole evening. His earlier words were forgotten when he bit his lip and looked up through his lashes, catching the Bull’s gaze.

Perhaps it _was_ one of those nights.


	5. When All Is Said And Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third and final part of A Man after Midnight
> 
> As always you can find the playlist [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-crgQGdpZR0&list=PLeV-4HcT6Z7R-F-xQ_03FIxaqldKgPnSL&index=5)

Regret. Immediate and sudden. His head was pounding, he could barely remember anything from the night before, and if the moisture on the pillow that he was lying face down in was anything to go by, he’d been drooling, even though he would certainly never admit that. Instead he hugged the pillow a little tighter and took a deep steadying breath.

Something wasn’t right.

He opened his eyes sluggishly to look down at the purple fabric. He couldn’t smell damp. _His_ sheets were a multitude of colours and not one of them was purple.

This was most certainly not his apartment.

He knew what he was going to see when he turned his head, and still he turned. The only surprise was the fact that the Qunari, Bull, was still wearing his eye patch, even as he snored softly. Breath held, Dorian extricated himself from the bed, pausing when Bull’s breathing changed, but only for a moment. He had a very vague memory of the house’s lay out. He could just about remember leaving the club, and drinking even more when they made it to Bull’s house, anything beyond that was a blur.

Oh Maker, they must have fucked, he couldn’t remember it but he’d been thinking about it most of the night, and that was the only logical explanation.

Carefully and quietly he pulled on his clothing, and attempted to leave the house unnoticed. When he managed to reach the front door he tested the handle, but of course it was locked, what else had he been expecting?

“Sneaking out?” Dorian turned suddenly to look at the man in the hallway, human, and Dorian couldn’t remember him being Tevinter. Shit, his name began with a ‘C’… Possibly.

“I…” Dorian coughed sharply to try and rid himself of the rough edge to his voice. “Yes, places to be and all that.”

The man hummed and stepped forward with his keys to let Dorian out.

It felt like everyone was watching his obvious walk of shame, he smoothed his hair down using his phone as a mirror, but there was no way to disguise the fact that he was walking home in a rumpled work shirt that stunk of alcohol.

When he turned up to work in that exact shirt three hours later he assumed he’d be sent home at the very least, fired perhaps. But when Sera turned up twenty minutes late in a state worse than his, eye liner smudged and jeans ripped, they were both required to stay; apparently it was too much work to find replacements for two employees.

“So, spill the beans.” Sera sang as she finally made it behind the counter.

“I’m fairly certain we shouldn’t be talking about this at work.”

“Okay, I’ll start,” she stated as she pulled one of the little paper orders from the till and started making it. “Me and widdle went to the tattoo place. She still chickened out but I did it.”

“You got a tattoo?”

“Nah, would have taken too long.”

“A piercing? Where?” Dorian asked and regretted it immediately as he looked at her ears, both with simple studs that had already been there.

Sera snorted. “Can’t show you that at work. So, I’ve spilled, your turn.”

“You know, that was never agreed.”

“Yeah whatever. You and Bull, come on? Yeah or neh?” Dorian coughed into his hand and continued making the drink without comment. “Holy shit, you did! You shagged Bull.”

“I don’t know that.”

“What do you mean? Wait, shite, how out of it were you?!”

“Quite,” Dorian answered.

At the end of the shift Sera did not even mention drinking, and Dorian was pleased, as he walked home he thought that he certainly wouldn’t be drinking that excessively again in a hurry. When he was finally able to step through his own front door he sighed and threw his bag to the floor before he fell onto the sofa, even if there really wasn’t enough padding left in the thing for any sort of comfort.

He waited a while before climbing to his feet, groaning at the pain of being on his feet for longer than he’d ever voluntarily be. Shirt thrown into a bag and switched out for something more comfortable and far cleaner, he headed to the Laundromat to do the washing he’d tried to use an excuse the night before.

When he arrived and removed his headphones, he was simultaneously surprised by and had wholly anticipated the presence of Bull, even if he had been trying to avoid it. Like the night before he was only wearing trousers, his top half fully exposed. Dorian didn’t plan to stay long enough to register the song playing, as soon as he stepped foot inside the Laundromat he turned on his heel.

He was stopped however as Bull called after him. “Hey, Dorian wait!”

Pausing on the doorstep of the building he waited for Bull to cross the room and hold out something in his hands, something that Dorian slowly recognised as one of his best pairs of underwear. “I wasn’t sure if you were leaving these as an excuse to come back, but I figured-”

“Thank you, I’ll be leaving now!” Dorian cut in as he grabbed the underwear that was dangling from the Bull’s finger.

“Dorian!” Bull called again as he started to move away, this time he growled and paused, but didn’t turn to look at the Qunari. “You know we didn’t have sex, right?”

“We didn’t?” Dorian asked, turning to see Bull shake his head before letting out a sigh of relief.

“I offered to walk you home but you invited yourself into mine when I dipped inside to use the bathroom. We drank a little, you were out of it after a vodka or two and I didn’t want to leave you on the sofa. Probably not one of my best decisions, but my bed’s more than big enough for two.”

“So I just… Stayed the night, no sex?”

“Yeah, that’s how it went down.”

“Fine.” Dorian replied, once again stepping into the Laundromat and adding his under-things to his pile of washing.

They were silent for a long time, and it was only when Bull’s washing was finished and Dorian was stood adamantly watching his own load spin that Bull broke the silence. “So you said some things…”

“What kind of things?” Dorian asked as he rounded on the Qunari.

“Nothing bad, I promise, I was just wondering if you wanted to get dinner sometime?”

“Dinner?!”

“Or coffee, whatever floats your boat.”

“Not coffee, I- I’ll have to think about it.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again either way, that is if you still plan on doing your laundry after midnight and hanging around Sera.” With that Bull left and Dorian was left alone to mentally kick himself for not taking the offer.

A Qunari -a tall muscular and ruggedly handsome Qunari- who had taken him back to his place and let him pass out in his bed, had offered him dinner. The answer should have been easy. Maker damn it all. Dorian stuck his head out of the door and looked both ways down the street, but it was too late, Bull was gone.

-

“Apparently the reason I have absolutely no recollection of Bull and I having sex, is because we didn’t.” Dorian admitted to Sera whilst they were both working, and he was more than thankful for the fact he still had a job. Sera didn’t seem to maintain the same sentiment.

“So what did you do?”

“Nothing, we just slept.”

“Wow, you’re really living life on the edge,” Sera teased.

“Yes well…” Dorian let the sentence hang as he turned to serve the next customers, a pair of elves he recognised, one with dark hair and one that was definitely not a mage. “What can I get you?”

They reeled off the list for their coffee run, an impressive order to say the least; Dorian didn’t even consider asking for names until he was halfway through the order. They continued to instruct him in who was who, watching to make sure he was putting the right drink in the correct cup.

“And that one’s chief’s.” Dalish (he’d learnt her name when he’d written on her drink) stated as Dorian prepared the final drink, by far the sweetest thing he’d ever concocted, he was almost sure it alone would cause a heart attack.

“Who’s chief?”

“Me.” A voice that really should not have been familiar answered, as Bull stepped into the café and grabbed one of the little cardboard trays full of drinks and Sera turned to Dorian with a wicked grin that she purposely brought into his peripheral view.

Dorian pressed the pen against the polystyrene cup, his brain deciding which name to write. Neither of them were his final answer as he quickly scribbled his phone number, filled the cup and slotted it into place on one of the trays before he could decide otherwise. He’d tried to be subtle but when Bull winked at him before following Dalish and Skinner out of the store he knew he’d been caught.

The company policy was no phones on the floor, but when it vibrated in his pocket, he couldn’t help but sneak a look, a text from an unknown number.

_Friday good for you? ]:)_


	6. The Best Medicine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Modern AU Bull finds that Dorian, all fancy and prim, has a very unflattering laugh when he's found something really funny and Bull loving it. Bonus if you can sneak in Month Python references." - [lustfulbarney](http://lustfulbarney.tumblr.com)
> 
> Warning for NSFW

When Bull first hears Dorian laugh they’re not really anything, they barely even know each other, not yet. Dorian had been working for the Inquisition for a couple of weeks and it was over something small, something Varric says whilst he’s reading over Dorian’s proposed article and the laugh he gives is calculated, four short chuckles. It’s obvious the laugh is just for show, not an actual symptom of humour, and damn, Bull wants to hear how Dorian really laughs.

Odds are Tevinter probably beat it out of him, his laughter lines are there, but barely, the guy still has plenty of time. But Bull discovers theirs only six years between them, not that much when put into perspective, and after they’ve known each other a little while he can tell that some days Dorian’s hair is unnaturally dark, he’s already dying away any grey, and yeah it’s a little sad.

It becomes a sort of challenge, making Dorian laugh. Sure it’s easy enough to elicit that cocky little grin, and the chuckles can come easy enough when Dorian’s in the right mind set, but he and Dorian have been in bed enough times to warrant the title of ‘something’ when he first hears anything close to what could be Dorian’s real laugh. There’s a huge story regarding the Tevinter Qunari war, so obviously Lavellan tosses the briefing on Bull’s desk as she hurries past, shouting back that he needs to read it fast, they’re going to an interview in ten minutes.

Turns out she’s managed to track down an interview with the Tevinter minister of defence, and Bull knows she’s trying to stir up shit bringing him along. He’s got a soft spot for his boss, but damn she loves putting them in possibly lethal situations for a story, then smiling when everything turns out fine, like she was always sure it would.

She’s grabbed Dorian too, even though he doesn’t typically deal in world affairs as the magic and tech guy, but Bull guesses that bringing a Tevinter Altus is supposed to settle the playing field a little. For once he’s glad she didn’t pair him with Krem otherwise they’d all end up dead or at the very least on the no-fly list for Tevinter.

Dorian is nervous, Bull can tell as they sit in the back of the car, it’s the first time he’s had any interaction with Tevinter since he left, and a high profile figure like this isn’t exactly a great start. As great a reporter as Lavellan is, it’s certainly not that she’s heatless, she’s just rather unaware of other people’s emotional states. So he slips his hand over Dorian’s. For possibly the first time the mage doesn’t pull away; he smiles slightly and turns his hand to hold onto Bull’s more firmly.

They arrive at the Tevinter embassy in Orlais in record time, and the receptionist at the door looks surprised to see them, Bull just hopes Lavellan isn’t turning up unannounced. Thankfully the receptionist calls through the ministers secretory, who shakes all of their hands rather cautiously,

“We weren’t expecting you so early.” She admits as she hands over press badges.

There are a bunch of things Lavellan can say, but of course she goes for the most inappropriate one of all, and with a straight face replies. “Nobody expects the Inquisition.”

Bull hears the snort, but in the time it takes him to realise it was _Dorian_ who made that noise, the Vint has stopped, a hand covering his mouth in surprise. Bull smiles as Dorian looks to him with wide eyes and a slight blush on his brown skin. Dorian _snorts_ when he laughs, and Bull knows without a shadow of a doubt that must contribute to the reason why he hides it, and that’s exactly why he has to hear it again.

The interview goes as well as it can everything considered, and he and Dorian manage to pull together a front page story, something that has Dorian smiling for a while since he’s usually pushed to the back. It also means that when they head into the parking lot Dorian climbs into Bull’ car without comment, it’s only when they’ve driven out of the city centre that Bull asks where they’re actually going. That red tinge returns to Dorian’s cheeks when he turns towards the window and suggests heading straight to Bull’s place. Granted it’s happening more often, there’s an extra tooth brush sat on his sink, and a spare shirt that’s far too small for him folded neatly in his bottom drawer.

The truth is he’s learnt more about the upper-class Vint in the past couple of months, and he’d never believed that someone could be a completely different person to how they present themselves, and sure it had shocked him the first time they went for a meal somewhere up market and despite all of his complaining, Dorian ordered a beer. Shocked even more that after the utter horror Dorian had expressed the first time Bull had offered to get them a takeaway, that after a few meals out, Dorian suggested they stay in and try out a new Antivan place that had opened up, and bought a cheap bottle of wine from the store. Sure he still occasionally pulled a vintage from nowhere, and hell half of his clothes were probably worth a month of his current salary, but there were new habits, new preferences trickling in that the Bull could never have anticipated.

That night is familiar, they order from the only Tevinter place in Orlais, and share the main dishes, both with a kick to them, and a bottle of wine that had been sitting unopened in Bull’s fridge in anticipation of Dorian’s next visit. After dinner they sit down with the TV on for a while, but it isn’t long before Dorian’s hands are trailing, and his lips are fluttering against Bull’s jaw. Bull tries to resist a little longer, he knows how good it can be when Dorian gets himself riled up, but damn he is a sucker for the way Dorian’s hands work.

It’s pretty vanilla, and probably won’t be their only time that night. Opening Dorian up slowly on his fingers, and pushing until he makes Dorian moan against his better judgement. They face each other as Bull slides into Dorian, legs wrapped around his waist to make everything easier. Bull’s glad that he moved out of his old apartment into the little detached, else the whole building would hear Dorian cursing and moaning.

Bull can feel his climax getting closer, and that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t realise immediately that Dorian’s swearing has turned from pleasure to something else.

He stops moving for a moment and asks, “You alright?”

Dorian manages to bite out, “Katoh.”

That’s all Bull needs, he pulls out and gives Dorian plenty of space as the mage curls on his side and continues to swear. It’s a rule that they don’t ask questions, but when there’s something so obviously wrong he can’t bear to stand back and watch. “Dorian, what’s wrong?”

He’s caught completely off guard when Dorian fucking _snorts_ again, and answers, “Venhedis, I’ve got cramp!”

Bull sees it now; he was too focused on the fact that Dorian had stopped sex and immediately curled into the foetal position, the way Dorian’s calf is tensed, and his upper body is shaking. The shaking is explained when Dorian lets out a high pitched laugh which Bull would honestly liken to braying, punctuated with another snort and a curse. And it’s- to be completely brutally honest, Bull didn’t believe such an ugly laugh could come out of such a pretty guy, and he’s not quite sure why it makes him so damn _smitten_. Either way it pulls a laugh from Bull.

But Dorian is trying his hardest to stifle his laughter, and intermittently apologising, because the fact of the matter is they’re both still rock hard, occasionally Dorian stops when his calf seizes up again. Bull can’t help himself when he pulls Dorian into his lap, like they had been when they’d been fucking, and he receives a squeal and a snort, but he still pulls Dorian leg up, and rubs his thumb into the muscle, pushing away the tension. Dorian sighs and his laughing quickly ends but Bull can see the blush on his cheeks, and he knows Dorian’s not hard anymore, and everything is good until he sees Dorian turn away in that dismissive way that means he’s lost in thought.

“Do you always laugh when you’re nervous?” Bull asks and Dorian turns back to him slowly.

“How did you guess?” Dorian replies with a sigh, but continues before Bull can answer. “I try not to, for obvious reasons.”

“Hey, you should laugh more; it’s a good look on you.”

“You _heard_ that, right?!”

Bull warps his hand around Dorian’s waist and leans forward to kiss away the confusion. Hell, his laugh definitely isn’t a choir of angels, closer to an angered steed, but he’s not at all lying when he says, “I love it.”

Dorian opens his mouth, most likely to argue if the look in his eyes is any indication, so Bull tightens his grip and watches as Dorian squirms a little, lets out a loud laugh. Whatever Dorian had been prepared to say turns into, “Don’t you dare.”

Grin spreading wide, Bull just retorts, “You know how to make me stop.”

The safe word isn’t used again, not as Bull presses his fingers into Dorian’s sides and the mage wriggles under his grip and lets out a string of off-key cackles and a snort that has Bull laughing and pressing on. Because well, he thinks he’d be happy to listen to that noise for the rest of his life.


	7. Epilogue: A Man After Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I swear though, this is the last chapter… Probably

Dorian can’t believe he let the Bull take him to places like this. This time it was a one off night of old school music, 70’s, 80’s a hint of the 90’s, and Dorian can’t believe they _all_ agreed to go, Sera wasn’t even alive for the best part of two of those decades, _he_ wasn’t either, though he won’t admit it’s slightly more than he’d like. And Bull, well the Bull was barely even considered a functioning person towards the end of the 70’s, it’s completely ridiculous.  He was rather surprised that they’re still amongst some of the oldest there. _Students._

He supposed he did these things because Bull always punctuated the question with a kiss and a hand on Dorian’s hip. It was probably because he always asked after sex, in _their_ bed, in _their_ house that they split the rent for. Things had gotten easier after he had met Bull, when he was miraculously offered a place on the Universities research team. Apparently they’d been looking for someone with his qualifications in theoretical magic, even when they’d tossed away his CV months before, Dorian knew as soon as he sat down on what was Bull’s sofa at the time, and the Qunari had asked with a suspicious grin how his day had been, that Bull had definitely played a hand in it. He’d almost turned down the position on terms of pride, he’d wanted to find a position on his own merits, one that wasn’t a coffee shop (from which Sera had eventually been fired) but Bull had convinced him, they wouldn’t take in _anyone,_ they just needed another nudge in Dorian’s direction, one he supplied.

Things were… Well they were sickeningly domestic, Bull would cook, Dorian would chop the vegetables, and after he’d load up the dishwasher. It was a routine, and routine meant they were settling, that they were becoming habit, and he was finding, most shockingly, that he had no desire to change that. After all habits were hard things to break.

Dorian had been at the bar for nearing twenty minutes when he finally managed to break through the queue and place an arm on the bar. It was then that Bull chose to grab his hand and pull him out of the crowd and away from the bar on one swift tug.

“I was about to order my drink!” Dorian cried.

“Have mine.” Bull shouted back over the music. “You can’t stand in a queue when they’re playing our song.”

Hand still held in Bull’s Dorian was forced into dancing as he necked Bull’s drink and listened to the music for a moment. Oh Maker. “This isn’t our song!”

“Sure it is. It was playing when we first met.”

“I will not let you make ABBA our song!”

“Too late, it already is!” Bull stated with the biggest damn smile that Dorian didn’t even contemplate putting up a fight when Bull pulled him to the dance floor and into a spin that had their backs together so he could speak against Dorian’s ear. “You walked into a lonely Laundromat after midnight, in a strange new place, confused and down on rent and you were looking a man to help-”

“I was looking for a washing machine because mine was broken!” Dorian argued.

“You were subconsciously looking for a guy to take your hand,” And Bull emphasised the statement by turning Dorian around and taking both of Dorian’s hands in his, “To make those long nights more bearable, and to teach you how to use an oven.”

“You get ridiculously sappy when you’re drunk!” Dorian laughed as he ran his hands over Bull’s chest.

“You know we should get married in a Laundromat, ABBA playing in the background.”

“Oh what a shame that pink underwear was in an ‘accident’, you could have worn that instead of a suit.” Dorian mocked whilst they’re being extremely hypothetical about everything.

“Okay maybe scrap the laundry place. But this should be our first dance.”

“No.”

“Is that a ‘no, not this song’, or a ‘no, we’re not getting married’?” Bull asked and Dorian had to stop for a moment in a state that was slightly the wrong side of tipsy for a conversation like this. Qunari’s don’t get married, and Dorian always figured Bull’s Tal-Vashoth status did nothing to change that view. He’d eventually accepted the fact that having a partner – _having Bull-_ was enough for him, that his decision to run south was never based solely on the possibility of marriage.

“Why, is this your idea of proposing?”

“Nah, just wondering if that’s a thing I should be planning.”

“If you want to,” Dorian answered hesitantly.

“Do you want to?” Bull asked, because in the end Bull could make suggestions, but he rarely thought about his own wants, the Qun had done that to him.

“Surprise me.” Dorian insisted, and Bull grinned wide and held onto him as the song ended.

When he’s not drunk Dorian regrets those words, and he knows that in time, should Bull propose, those words will come back to bite him in the ass.

-

Dorian’s a little pissed off that it’s their anniversary and he hasn’t seen or heard from Bull all day but for a single text that said, _working late ]:(_

Correction: Dorian is extremely pissed off, and he channels that anger into the chores that Bull said he’d do before he left for work that day, all of the washing still sat in a pile in the corner of their room. He throws it all into the machine, and doesn’t care that two of the Bull’s socks had fallen in the hallway, its Bull’s fault anyway. When the damn machine won’t turn on it’s on instinct that Dorian shouts, “Bull, the washer’s broken!” and then curses when he remembers that on the evening on their anniversary he is alone, staring angrily at their washing machine.

Throwing everything into a bag, he storms from the house and walks the seven blocks to the Laundromat because that’s just the kind of mood he’s in. He’s more than ready to angrily throw the laundry into one of these machines, but he hears it from several houses away, and stops dead in his tracks. ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!’ is playing and Dorian knows without a doubt that there’s no way it’s a coincidence. If he didn’t love the man so much he’d kill him.

He doesn’t really get a chance. The moment he steps into the building he almost falls over Bull and impales himself on one of Bull’s horns.

The question is on his lips, hot and angry, _what are you playing at?!_ But then he takes it in, the place has sheets hanging on either side, hiding the machines from view, and there are petals scattered on the floor, and Bull is on his damned knee, he probably won’t be able to stand after this. Dorian’s probably going to kill him for this.

“Before either of us says something stupid,” Bull begins. “Sorry, it wasn’t meant to go like that.”

“You weren’t meant to infuriate me on our anniversary?” Dorian asks sarcastically.

“’Course not, but things got delayed and Skinner and Grim made the back-up plan, probably should have checked it over to be honest.”

“Probably,” Dorian agrees. “I thought I said no ABBA in this Laundromat.”

“Hey, you said not for the wedding. We’re not getting married, yet.”

Then Bull does it, pulls a small square box from his pocket. He doesn’t get a chance to ask, barely even has the box open, because the anger melts away, and Dorian throws their laundry aside and falls down next to Bull. They go for a meal afterwards of course, to celebrate, but that’s how he agrees to marry Bull, sat on the floor of a Laundromat next to their dirty laundry with ABBA playing in the background, and it seems… right.

But Maker help him, there will be none of this at his wedding.

(He realises that all things considered there probably will be.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't prompted, I just love the idea of Dorian coming south and discovering open LGBT culture so damn much, so here’s a fic of fanboy Dorian discovering gay literature.

Dorian had another book resting on his knee when Bull entered the room, and he immediately recognised it as the next instalment of Varric’s series that Dorian had denied borrowing from Cassandra almost a month ago. He’d stated that he hated them, that they were by far the worst literature he’d ever been subjected to, but Bull could see him cast a magical light so he could continue reading the moment he thought Bull was asleep.

“Have you ever read anything by Duval?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Dorian answered without taking his eyes from the book. “Most books in Tevinter are written in Tevinter, the few that make it past the border are typically based upon magical theory. So unless Duval was skilled in thaumaturgy I highly doubt you’ll find his work in a Tevinter library.”

“You just seem like the kind of guy to deal in books behind the circle, where none of the Enchanters would find you.”

Dorian laughed, “Yes, well, I wasn’t particularly fond of my peers, nor they of me.”

Bull had read Tevinter novels before, they were for the most part, tragedies, or ended with the characters falling perfectly into place within society. He knew the kinds of novels Dorian must have read as a young man, stories of boys running off to be together, only for the call of their duty to pull them apart, as they married wives and produced heirs for ‘the greater good’.

It was weeks later when they happened across a book stall, one that just so happened to have a Duval. Not his best work but it was precisely the he’d been looking out for, the one with the runaway Tevinter. Perfect.

When Bull handed the book to Dorian the mage turned it over in his hands, inspecting the back, before asking, “Really?”

“Yeah, you’ll like it.”

“Bull I have been in the South long enough to have experienced Orlesian literature, even before then I knew of the common themes and conventions, and honestly ‘a tale of love and adventure’ sounds horrifically cliché. Oh look! They even have a disgraced Tevinter that can attempt to redeem themself. Well this would be just perfect for cliché bingo.”

“Promise you’ll try and read it.” Dorian sighed, but kissed Bull quickly. That usually meant yes.

-

Bull never saw Dorian reading the book, until he rolled over a few nights and recognised the tell-tale mage light. Sure enough Dorian had the book in his lap; the pages split about two thirds of the way through.

“You enjoying your book?” Bull asked, and Dorian jumped at the unexpected sound, placing the book aside quickly even though it was evident Bull had noticed.

“No.”

“Well for something you don’t enjoy you seem to be up awfully late reading it.”

“You can’t leave a book half read, so I’m trying to end a dreadful experience as quickly as possible.”

“Dreadful? I figured you’d like it.” Bull teased.

“You severely misunderstood my tastes then. As I suspected its following classic southern tropes and clichés,” Dorian explained. “Deana is the strong female character, being a dragon hunter and all, Marcel is clearly the muscular yet sensitive male meaning that gender roles are switched and it’s supposedly _hilarious._ And Pellio is the stereotypical bad guy turned to a good cause, even when he admitted that all along he was trying to fight for what was right, but was struggling under his country’s systematic oppression.”

“Uh-huh, that so?”

“Yes! And it is completely obvious that the end game is Deana and Marcel, even if the more logical match is Marcel and Pellio, but of course they wouldn’t allow that in literature. All though she is a marvellous character, Deana never wanted to help the cause, she’d rather be dragon hunting because that’s the life she understands, and it’s where her heart lies. Whereas, Marcel wants to be rid of that life, and Deana being away from home constantly would not afford Marcel the affection he deserves. Pellio on the other hand has expressed nothing but a desire to remain south and assist with efforts even after the war, he and Marcel would be able to remain together and it’s clear that under all of his bluster Pellio also cares deeply, and the two of them could be precisely what the other needs. Not to mention the chemistry they have. Yes, Deana and Marcel are friendly, and knew each other before Pellio ever graced the scene, but Marcel and Pellio… They tease constantly, and the animosity has fallen away, they laugh together. They’re perfect for one another!”

Dorian finally let out a sharp breath and fell back on the bed.

“You done yet?” Bull asked with a smile, he’d caught the accidental similarities between what Dorian had described and their relationship.

“I’m done, for now.”

Bull smiled, running a hand over Dorian’s arm. “Well, keep on reading. Glad to see you identify with Pellio.”

“I didn’t say that,” Dorian argued.

“You didn’t have to.”

-

Bull knew it would be soon, judging by the amount of book Dorian had left to read. He had expected a reaction, especially after Dorian’s rant, but he hadn’t quite expected what he received.

The door of the tavern flew open so violently everyone quieted for a moment, when Bull saw Dorian stood in the doorway his mind scanned through everything he could have possibly done wrong and how he could make up for each of them.

Dorian waited until the tavern had quieted until he strode towards the Chargers and every one of them hurriedly shifted away from Bull, several feet of empty space between he and the closest. Bastards, every one of them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Dorian cried, only loud enough that the Chargers could hear him.

“Tell you what?” Bull asked hesitantly.

They all jumped slightly when the book hit the table with an echoing thud. “Everything I said and you just led there and smirked like some cocky bastard because you _knew._ You knew I’d love Pellio, and you knew the ending.”

“You’re pissed because your favourite character died?” Krem asked cautiously.

“No! I’m ‘pissed’ because his parents arranged a marriage for him.”

“Hey, woah! You’ve only read up to the letter?”

“No,” Dorian sighed as he sunk into the chair next to Bull, a smile forming on his lips. “I read it all. Is this book outlawed?”

“No, it’s available all over the place; I can’t even name all of the ones that have been written.”

“I used to read books and think there was something wrong, because… Well because truthfully I identified with the woman in the tales, but only really in the sense that I wanted to find love and run off into the sunset with… With a man. But _this,_ a story that ends with a man turning away from his duties, a _Tevinter Altus_ turning all of that way to be with the man he loves, of course he was not the entire focus, the story was based mostly on Marcel, but still… They would never have allowed it in Tevinter! I feel so filthy, I feel ecstatic Bull! Stories like this exist, stories that contain all of those romantic clichés, but they’re about men! I grew up and-… Bull if I’d had these, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt _wrong_ for so long.”

“Nothing about you is wrong,” Bull stated.

“I know that now, but back then… Did you- Did you say there were others?”

“Yeah, a bunch from him, different authors too, depends what you’re looking for.”

“Do you think we could find some?” Dorian asked, and Bull didn’t think he’d ever seen Dorian look so timid, so hopeful.

“Of course Kadan.”


	9. Retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unprompted drabble about Bull and Dorian being old and married and very much still in love

When Bull returned Dorian was lounging across the loveseat, book in hand, half-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose, his hair pulled back in a lazy bun, untamed tendrils of white and silver framing his face.

As soon as his eyes flicked from the pages to Bull’s badly concealed limp, he tutted, and slowly shifted on the loveseat, patting the space beside him and placing his hands against Bull’s back and hips as he led him down onto the plush cushions.

“I thought I told you not to overdo yourself,” Dorian chastised.

“I know,” Bull sighed stretching out his leg, and swinging the other into Dorian’s lap, his slender hands worked on the straps and buckles, easing off the fake limb. He didn’t much believe in gods or makers or whatever, but he had to thank something for the fact they’d left him with his ‘good’ leg. “But Krem needed a bit of help.”

“Krem should also be thinking of retiring, unless he expects Lace to remove _his_ prosthetics and massage his constant aches when the two of them finally settle.”

“Krem’s doing good for a guy his age,” Bull argued.

“Which is exactly why he should quit whilst he’s ahead. Maybe when the Chargers have been handed down to some younger recruit you can finally rest.” They both laughed at that, because they knew so long as Bull was sound of mind and his heart was beating, he couldn’t last long without something to keep his mind occupied.

“Got anything cooking?”

“Beef stew,” Dorian answered. “I went into town and grabbed us some meat and supplies.”

“We have cows Dorian.”

“Yes,” he replied slowly, and Bull knew he was searching for an excuse. “They’re for milking.”

“We’re going to run out of space sooner or later.”

“Well how about next time you try and murder one of them when they’re looking up at you like that. It’s not easy, I can assure you.”

Bull could only smile at his Kadan, he could remember a time when Dorian had cursed white hair and wrinkles, but they looked good on him, most things looked good on him. Bull could admit that he was rather biased though.

The hands massaging what was left of his leg were shaking, and he frowned ever so slightly, receiving an almost instant worry, “What’s the matter amatus?”

“Your hands doing all right?” Bull knew he wasn’t the only one with ailments, age played tricks on all of them.

“I suppose they could be worse. The healer told me I should bandage them more, give them time to relax.”

Bull hummed and stated, “I’ll finish dinner.”

“No you will not,” Dorian argued. There were times it seemed that Dorian had gone soft, not only in body but in temperament, when he was massaging Bull’s aches, when he was pottering about the house, cleaning things away and feeding chickens, things a younger Dorian had needed time to adjust to. But there were moments, such as now, when he remembered why the Chargers had originally called him spitfire. “You’ve only just returned, now you will sit down and you will eat the meal I have lovingly prepared.”

“Yes sir,” Bull laughed and Dorian gave him a sly glance with a small smile. They were getting too old for that shit, the more intense stuff, but the way Dorian looked at him then made it clear they weren’t too old for everything. It was all slower now, it used to be hot and raw, passionate, now he’d call it love-making, that’s what it was. It was holding and kissing and sometimes they didn’t make it as far as sex, many times they were just content to hold one another.

Yeah, they’d both gone soft.

“You need a bath before dinner,” Dorian ordered.

“Well with this leg it’s not easy, you might have to join me.”

Dorian smiled, Bull had used that a hundred times before, from the moment he’d lost it when Dorian stopped fretting over grey hairs for a while because ‘vishante kaffas Bull, how much more of you can you stand to lose?!’ Now it was old, familiar, and Dorian pulled him down by a gold capped horn and pressed their lips together.

“Perhaps I shall.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you would like to prompt me for Adoribull Sunday, or just check out my tumblr, you can find me [here](http://vashothbutt.tumblr.com)


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